Rising Clouds
by Lupa Altre
Summary: Lomo couldn't have been considered normal in her previous life. Honestly, she wasn't that torn up over her death, either. Too bad she wasn't getting that eternal rest she had been looking forward to. Reborn as Wiper's little sister in the Shandian tribe, having never even heard of One Piece, she isn't prepared. Well, she wasn't the first time around either. That's just life.


**Disclaimer: This is non-profit and solely for entertainment. I own nothing except my plot and any OCs.**

 _ **Un-betaed.**_

 **Now I'll try not to follow every cliche in the book, most of which I probably don't know about, but I can't make any promises. Honestly, deliberately struggling to avoid every potential cliche seems like it'll just make writing this a whole lot more difficult. Whatever seems like the right choice at the time, will probably end up as what's written. I'll** _ **try**_ **to make this the best story I can, and that's the only thing I** _ **can**_ **promise.**

 _ **NOT A SELF-INSERT. THIS IS AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER, WHO ACTUALLY HAS A PLAUSIBLE CHANCE OF SURVIVAL UNLIKE ME INSERT.**_

 _ **She's also a bitter, biased, cynical bitch.**_

 **WARNINGS!: Language, gore, mentions of some very uncomfortable topics, beyond that I'm not going to give you specific ones. Considering this is rated M (not for lemons) I expect you to be** **M** **ature enough to make your own decisions based upon the situation. If it's something that is heading in a direction that unsettles or makes you uncomfortable, you should be capable of making the decision to back out or continue without me insulting your intelligence by holding your hand and pointing out anything vaguely unsettling. I'm not trying to be rude, but I do think it takes away from the story to do that, and so I won't. You've seen the rating, you're here despite it. You can take accountability for your own choices without blaming me.**

* * *

She didn't like to think about her death. Not just because it was, well, her _death_. Rather, it was a bit, embarrassing. Not that she died in a fantastically moronic manner, no, it just stung at her warrior's pride to have been so cocky in her tiredness. So callously complacent that, despite her exceptional level of fitness and years of self-defense training, that, that _scum-licking alcholic bastard_ had still gotten the drop on her.

Though admittedly, it was less defense and more kick-the-shit-out-of-whichever-dumb-fuck-thought-she-was-an-easy-target training (the hyphens were a bit excessive, she needed to work on that). Or punch, she wasn't particularly choosy, her legs just tended to be less likely to end up with split knuckles-partly because shoes, partly because she didn't have knuckles on her feet.

Obviously.

Then again, in this new world she had woken up in, something like knuckles on feet would hardly make her blink. She might not even notice, desensitized to strangeness as she was.

After all, she had small, upturned white wings on her back, and was living on an island that floated on a cloud sea. In the sky.

Let me paraphrase that for convenience.

Her. Dead. She had _wings_. Island _in the sky_.

She thought she took it rather well. Honestly, the only thing she was really upset about was the fact that the wings seemed to be solely aesthetic, making her long-held dream of flight once again beyond her reach.

There hadn't been much holding her to her past life, anyways, alone as she was. Unwanted, the scum of society that the so-called upper crust attempted to ignore when they realized they couldn't scrape her off their expensive, newly polished shoes. People didn't like to think about women like her when it wasn't convenient for them.

And a whore was only convenient to just about anyone, when they wanted good sex with no strings and were willing to pay for it. _Oh_ , her apologies, she was a _prostitute_ , she forgot that some people liked to act as though they had the right to censure what she called her own _damn self_. Why the hell was it suddenly their business if she didn't feel like giving polite society any more recognition than it took to flip up her middle finger at the entire concept. Even most of the people who acted to "help" in some odd sense of self-righteous heroism (hedonism, more like it) tended to look at her in a mix of pity, repugnance, and like she should be grateful that they, the kind, wonderful people that they were, deigned to stand up for her poor, helpless self.

Obviously, she knew that not everyone and everything was like that, she wasn't _that_ egocentric as to ignore everything outside her personal bubble. Just, she wasn't personally acquainted with any of them (and maybe, just maybe, she was a little bit bitter). Certainly she had the other girls and guys in her line of business, but no matter how much they looked out for each other, like a big, diverse, extensive family, she had held herself at a distance, carefully maintained after the very unfortunate demise of her mentor, her mother-in-all-but-blood (her biological one certainly had no right to the title), the only person she unconditionally trusted and relied upon. A few of them had been getting there, certainly, and as time wore on and she came to terms with her resentment and fury, she began to soften from the bitterness caused by life's apparent pleasure in the endless act of giving her lemons, cutting them open, squirting them in her eyes, and eating them in front of her while she starved to death.

Well. Perhaps still a bit bitter, but Rome wasn't built in a day?

That sounded too much like a question, even in her own mind.

Anyways (yes she knew that it was a plural even without the 's' on the end, but it sounded fucking awkward, and hell yeah she was gonna bitch about every petty thing she had ever been ticked off about, if she couldn't do that in her own head there was just no justice in the world, ignoring the fact that there really, honestly _wasn't_ ) they never got the chance to break down those walls before she died, rather ironically, in almost the same way as her mentor.

(She wondered if they missed her. Probably not, past her, before she had begun to accept things, began to try and become the good person she had once wanted to be, there near the end, had been a two-faced bitch. _She_ hated past her. She hated all-the-time her, actually, but self-pity didn't fill your stomach.)

Anyways, she followed in her mentors unfortunately placed footsteps by turning down a drunk, aggressive man who wanted to fuck her, but didn't want to pay for it. Yeah she was a little pricey, but she had certainly never got a complaint from her customers, male or female, after she finished working them over. Cause she had worked her way up to such a high price with a lot of experience, skill, and not a little help from her god-gifted _assets_.

Her personality might not have been anything to admire, but that never mattered what with her bang-worthy body and ability to act on the job.

Anyways, she normally wouldn't have an issue, cause it was her fucking _line of work_ , and she might not be a nymphomaniac, but she wasn't repulsed by sex either. Really, she was just indifferent, it wasn't all that interesting (but she could fake that interest well enough to convince even the sharpest clients, basing it off her experiences with the one person she had actively liked having sex with, who had obviously been out of the picture just like every other good thing in that life). But he wanted free sex, like she was some experimenting greenhorn that could be picked up with a cheap drink and italian accent.

(Shit, he was probably in the mafia or something with how he carried around that gun, but he had seemed way to pathetic for that so she never suspected a thing. Well, she was dead, so it wasn't her problem anymore. Fuck, death was actually pretty convenient wasn't it. Too bad she got reincarnated to deal with a whole new round of bullshit.)

Her mother figure had been bludgeoned to death in a dark alley, though, so there was a divergence there. She certainly hadn't been able to think something like that so calmly when she had to identify the brutalized corpse, but well. She had experienced more than enough trauma in her lifetime for the scars to heal neatly, even if they did get ripped open every now and again.

Her death, in comparison to her life (at least she finally caught a break, even if it was only at the end) was quick and relatively painless. She only had a short time to register the pain of the bullet lodged in her sternum before a harsh crack and all-consuming darkness signaled the entrance of the second one through her left eye.

See what she was so embarrassed about? Despite all her training, her trials, her desperate determinator attitude in clinging to life no matter how painful, how tedious, how _pointless_ it all seemed, out of spite if nothing else (apparently she had the same attitude even while on the womb, with the stories her _biological_ mother had told her before she left about her fruitless attempts to kill her in it. What a boost to her self-esteem, thanks _mother_ ), three days without sleep and a particularly trying day was enough to do her in.

Well, _technically_ it was the guy with the gun, but she certainly wouldn't have let her guard down enough around a blatant threat to miss him _whipping out a gun_ and _shooting her_ if not for those specific circumstances. No excuse, obviously, considering it killed her, but considering she was the one who died she thought she could offer herself a few platitudes. Any other time and she would have taken him down before he could even get the weapon out of his pocket (she knew that from previous experience, even as a starving eight year old orphan her reflexes, and instinct to go for the groin with or without the training she had later gained, had served her well). But _no_ , out she strolled, cool as a cucumber, not suspecting a thing, and look where she ended up.

(At least she wasn't hit by a car or something equally ridiculous.)

Dead. In some weird-ass universe she knew absolutely nothing about, where superhuman feats, weird bullshit physics, floating islands (though apparently there were people who lived below the clouds called blue-sea dwellers), and equally weird bullshit powers existed.

She oddly remembered one of her distant-acquaintances-trying-to-be-friends-with-resident-bitch-for-some-absurd-reason talking about the fiction she read, since she had the time to let her thoughts wander. In particular, there was apparently some sort of "reincarnation plot" of people from normal worlds ending up in fictional universes, or rather fantastical universes since this clearly wasn't fiction. Something about fanfiction? Whatever, didn't matter. The only thing she needed to know, was that this was her reality now. Who cared what supposedly fictional world this may or may not be.

Maybe knowledge about this world could have helped her. Maybe not. Honestly, it would probably just be stressful, constantly worrying about screwing with the timeline or something like that. Eternally questioning whether her actions would fuck up the entire universe would just be trying. Honestly, for someone like her with so little attachment to her life, in such a situation where she didn't want to change things when she probably did so merely by existing, she wasn't averse to taking the easy way out. Suicide would clean up the whole mess comparatively neatly, and whatever small ripples were created by her existence would smooth themselves out.

Well, these days she wouldn't be able to go through with it. She wasn't alive for the sake of spite anymore. No, she had someone, many someones, to live for, people she knew with certainty would mourn her if she died.

That was a heady sensation, like drinking a little too much of the good shit when a customer felt like wining-and-dining her to get the full experience or whatever their motivations were. She never claimed to understand rich people.

The point, was what the fuck was the point of being alive if you're constantly freaking out about what _could_ happen _because_ you're alive. That was what life _was_. A constant barrage of surprises and twists, sometimes good, usually not. Following some mystical predetermined script didn't sound like her idea of a good time.

So yeah. If this universe _was_ one that ended up written into a bestseller in her original (not home, _this_ was home) world, she was glad she never read it. Whatever happened, happened, and whether or not things went to heaven or, the more likely option, hell, she'd roll the punches like she always had.

You know. _Live_.

She was a survivor then, and maybe she was one now, too, cause things like that, beaten into your bones so hard they creaked, never really left you.

But she wanted to be more than that. More than whoring herself out so she could pay the bills and keep herself fed. More than going through the motions of a life she felt apathetic to. No more desperately wanting companions, or in this world, _nakama_ (it felt deeper, somehow, resonated to the core of who she was,) while at the same time pushing them away, to protect herself, to protect them, or whatever other excuse she came up with.

One of the most important, mentor-ish things her _true_ mother-by-choice had ever told her, _taught her_ , was to never be a victim. It was one of the first things she had been told, actually, when the woman for some unfathomable reason saw something in her worth saving, worth spending hours hammering martial arts into, worth opening her home to, worth spending money on extra food.

" _I'll teach you one thing, and one thing only, girl. It might seem like a lot of different things, but in the end it all comes down to one. I'll teach you to never be a victim. There's something about you that makes me think you aren't hopeless, no matter how hard you try to act like you are. You'd have survived without me, I'd say, perhaps not as smoothly, but you seem like the type. That's why I picked you, I guess, cause even without me you would've clawed your way up from hell itself if you had to saw your own legs off to ditch the demons pulling you down. I'll just smooth things out a little, but you're still gonna do all the hard work yourself. Cause even if I was the type to coddle you and hold your hand, I'm still gonna die before you, 'least so long as nature is the one to take me rather than human stupidity, whether my own or others. If you rely too much on me, or anyone else, then you won't be ready to take care of yourself when it really matters. I'm not saying you should completely block people out, either, that's just as bad in its own way, cause sometimes you'll need them whether you like it or not. The point, is that you'll be able to make your own choices. If you want to protect yourself, then do so. If you want to protect something, someone else, then you need to be capable. Whether it's being able to get your own food or choosing how you die, the most important thing is that you can choose it for yourself."_

Her mom always had a flare for the dramatic, and was particularly fond of meaningful, inspiring statements that ranged from a few words to a few paragraphs. Something about her was magnetic, and it was like she always knew what people _needed_ to hear, though they might not always _want_ to.

So she had been forged through fire and ice, into someone with an unbreakable Will. Never would she be forced to bow, never would she allow someone else to to suppress her Will, never would she allow her choices to be taken from her hands. She might _choose_ to follow someone, someday, but it would always be her own decision to bend her knee.

She would choose how she lived, and choose how she died. Whether she was hated or loved didn't matter, so long as it was her decision. She had found a dream, too. She wanted to experience every culture in this new world, see how people all over the world lived their lives, what they ate, what they wore, how they talked. In her past life, she had been confined to her little corner of the earth her entire life, had never even left the city she was born in. At first because she couldn't, and later because she was too apathetic to do anything at all.

Now, perhaps you're wondering why she's thinking such a multitude of deep, fascinating thoughts, and brooding upon her past experiences and the dream she had chosen (for some reason, deciding to Live made her feel as though she needed a dream to reach for. Maybe this strange world was getting to her, though she didn't particularly mind).

Well, there was an excellent reason for the whole thing. Namely, considering that she was currently an infant, there wasn't much of anything else she _could_ do.

Ah, at least there would be time for that later.

* * *

Wiper, mighty soon-to-be warrior of the Shandian tribe, grunted as he stood on his tiptoes to peer at his little sibling. He would not hear of getting any help, as at five years old, he was a strong and independent Shandian warrior! He had to be even stronger, now, because he had a little sister to protect. She would be a strong warrior too, of course, like their mom, because they were descendents of the great warrior Calgara! The two of them would definitely be great warriors just like their ancestor, and reclaim their land from the dumb Skypieans! Then they'd ring the Golden Bell, and put Noland's soul to rest like it should've been four hundred years ago if not for those people getting in the way.

Right now though, she was tiny and squishy, so he had to protect her. Even when she got big enough to take care of herself, like him, he'd still protect her, cause that's what _everyone_ , especially mom, said big brothers did. He'd be a great big brother, just like he'd be a great warrior, and he'd protect the whole tribe _and_ his sister! Wiper grinned to himself, satisfied with coming up with such a great plan.

Hearing a sleepy gurgle, Wiper perked up even further, smile broadening him as he met his sister's eyes. There was a spark of wisdom, strangely intelligent for her age, present within, and the adults in the tribe all said she must have an old soul that had returned to the world after resting for a while. The general consensus seemed to be that it was natural for this to occur in Calgara's bloodline, because there had always been something about his descendents that put them in the middle of change. Somehow, it seemed inevitable that they would be pulled into the big events that had occurred throughout history.

There was just something about them.

Wiper was too young to think deeply about stuff like that, though. Rather than the misplaced age in her too-heavy gaze, he tended to focus more on the color. In general, everyone was pretty impressed by them, cause they were pretty! They were a really dark red sorta color, and the adults called it burgundy, but when she was fussy, which was pretty rare, the color would lighten so it looked like the crimson sometimes in the sky when the sun went down. Even more special, though, was that there was a bright gold X in her left eye that "tapered" off at the ends. Apparently that was an important word for things getting thinner. Everyone thought they were really neat, though! People, (even the adults!) always looked real impressed when they met her eyes, and some of the ones Wiper knew were supposed to be really wise and knowledgeable and stuff acted like it was hard to look away sometimes.

He tended to feel like he was missing something, then, but he figured he'd know when he got old like them.

Her hair was more like his, though. He had dark brown, so dark it looked almost black, like his dad, but his little sister had dark red-copper hair (lots of red on her, even her skin was a darker reddish-brown than most everyone but Wiper and their mom, and a few others, but it was really pretty like everything else about her), and it was kinda thinnish but growing in pretty fast, from what he'd seen of babies (not much). When they took her out in the sun, her hair shone real bright, like her eyes when she was angry, like the late-day sun he kept comparing her to, but he hadn't been able to see enough of the world to have more things to think about when he looked at her.

Honestly, he just felt fascinated by her mere existence. He couldn't help but stare at her whenever they were in the same vicinity. Just, this was _his little sister_! She was amazing, more amazing than anything he had ever seen!

Except mom, but she was _mom_ , and they looked real similar, would probably look even more similar when his sister grew up, though mom's eyes were a darker red, burgundy, whatever color, so they looked more blackish. Mom's skin was even darker too, and lots of people complimented her on it. Mom got lots of nice words said to her about everything though, cause mom was great!

Someone was calling him from outside though, and his face scrunched up slightly. Mom said he should relax more, since he was a kid, but he needed to be serious! Cause he was gonna be a great warrior like Calgara, and get back their land, and beat the Skypieans, and ring the golden bell so Noland's soul could finally rest. He couldn't put on what mom called his grumpy face in front of his sister, even if he wanted to, she just made him smile, he couldn't help it! Wiper was pretty sure everyone smiled at his sister though, so it wasn't just him.

Now, he just had to work on saying her name properly! He knew it was supposed to have an important meaning, but why'd mom have to pick such a long one? Dad should have picked her name, too, like he did Wiper's. It was a good name, he liked it. But he liked his sister's name too, just, it was so difficult!

But he'd get it soon, cause he was her big brother, and big brothers learned their sister's name no matter how long and complicated it was.

* * *

It wasn't until she was a few months in, and had mostly gotten the hang of the language (she attributed her natural linguistic abilities to never having gotten a proper education and thus not having the useless shit most people did cluttering up her head) that she found out her name. Mostly, thanks to Wiper's continued inability to pronounce it, until he finally just asked their mom for help.

"Alright," Adianka, the beautiful woman who was her mother in this life smiled prettily (she did _everything_ prettily, literally almost every woman she had seen in this world was in some sense beautiful), "let's try sounding it out, one part at a time."

Wiper nodded, expression intensely focused. She felt flattered that her elder brother cared enough to try this hard to pronounce her apparently difficult name. Though, she wondered why his name was comparatively simplistic, despite the tribal nature of the people she had been born into.

That was probably prejudiced of her, wasn't it…

Well, she hadn't exactly known any tribal societies personally in her past life! All she could go off was the internet for her information, and everyone knew it wasn't always the most reliable in terms of unbiased truthfulness. Just like any information that came from any source other than her own experiences.

Anyways, maybe they just had a wide variety of names in this world. Quite a few were rather, unique, to her foreign ears, even when they weren't in a strange dialect.

"Low," her mother sounded, then looked at Wiper encouragingly.

"Low," he parroted obediently.

"Mah, she continued, and Wiper again followed suit with a slightly off "Mah" that was close enough to her mother's pronunciation to pass muster.

"Hong,"

"Hung," Wiper blushed at the slip, then retried it, saying it correctly this time.

"Va!" She nearly shouted it, making both Wiper and his younger sister jerk in surprise.

"Va!" He grinned, saying it just as enthusiastically as their mother had.

"Good, now try saying it all at once. Low-mah-hong-va. Lomahongva."

"Low-muh-hong-va."

"Good, you've pretty much got it, now just work on saying it smoothly." Adianka gave a soft smile, and Lomahongva couldn't help comparing her to her past life's mothers. Her genetic one had been cold, bitter, and made it extremely clear that she was an unwanted and unneeded burden every day before she abandoned her in the streets when she was three. She probably should have died, if not for her abnormal intelligence and physicality for her age. The true lifesaver though, was that she was generally too pathetic to beat when caught, cute enough to beg food off the people who wanted to feel like they were helping, and had sharp instincts that helped her pick out the dangerous adults from those who wouldn't care about a missing item even if they noticed. After that, when she was 11, she had gotten into a situation that really should have been the end for her, but was lucky enough to catch the attention of her true mom. She had been calm, strict, and one of the most attractive women she had ever seen. She had known how to use that as a tool and a weapon, and taught her to do the same. Her body was one thing that would always belong to her, and no person could take that away no matter how hard they tried. It was her first and last weapon, both in charm and combat, and she just needed to know how to wield it.

The woman had been intelligent, confident, and entirely comfortable with herself and her body. She had also been one of the best damn pole dancers anyone had ever seen. Despite being a renowned martial artist, she had been capable of making people forget it, and tended to say that when men were underestimating her, she knew she had won.

Her mom had been kind, even though she was a firm believer in tough love and apparently allergic to coddling if someone wasn't on the verge of death, and even then it was a toss up. But she had always known she was loved, no matter how harsh a trainer she was, and that was more than could be said for quite a few of the "traditional" parents who apparently loved and cared for their children while doing an excellent job at failing to show it.

(You think she's acting bitter now? You should have seen her a few years ago, this is nothing in comparison.)

Her current mother though, was unlike her last biological one in that she was one Lomahongva could love, and have that love returned. She was clearly a warrior, with lean, corded muscles, the gait of someone who was used to fighting and damn good at it too. When she talked to the other adults, there was an aura of strength and command that demanded respect from even the most contrary elders without her doing a thing. But when she interacted with her children, there was always a gentleness in her harsh voice and muscled arms that spoke of love.

Also, she had fantastic abs. Lomahongva wouldn't mind getting those genetics, not at all. Her dad only came by on occasion, but he was pretty scrawny despite being fit. From what she heard, he was a gatherer-scout kind of person, and had to take long trips to fulfill his duties to the tribe, so he wasn't around much. Warriors like their mom tended to stay within range of the village, so they could protect it easily, not to mention having a young child like herself meant Adianka got to stay closer to home until she was eighteen months old.

Lomahongva really couldn't wait until she was old enough to actually _do something_. She was really sick of brooding for sheer lack of anything else to occupy herself with.

Then, something caught her attention. She tilted her head and gurgled curiously, seeing Wiper had sidled over to her while she was distracted. He leaned closer to her, and spoke in what he thought was a whisper.

"Sorry, but I'm just gonna call you Lomo. Your name is kinda long."

The newly-dubbed Lomo agreed. They shared a commiserating look.

Their mom laughed, a deep, hearty sound, loud and shameless in a way that suited her. "Lomo, huh? Alright, that's a pretty good name too."

Wiper smirked pridefully, despite his embarrassment at being overheard. Though, "why did you pick such a long name anyways? I don't know _anyone_ with a name that long!"

Adianka continued to smile, though it was softer now. "I chose it for the meaning. I believe the ancestors directed me to choose it, as there was something about that name that felt right for little Lomo, here."

"What _does_ it mean, then?"

"Beautiful clouds arising."

Wiper blinked. "It sounds nice?"

"It does, doesn't it…" She hummed softly to herself. "Yeah, it's a good name."

Lomahongva had a consensus with her there, at least. Even if it might be a bit pretentious sounding, one way or another, it fit. Though, at least for regular use, Lomo was more convenient. Still, even if she didn't like it, there was no way she could reject anything from her new mother.

The future, for the first time in her life since Mom died, looked bright.

* * *

By the time she turned one, several things became obvious. One of which, was that Shandian hair grew very, very quickly. Thus why very few people, including among the men, had short or even mid-length hair. The normal length ranged from lower-back to ankle-length, but there were a variety of elaborate and quick ways to tie it back so it didn't get in their way. There were certain ties and ornaments used to show status, accomplishments, and special occasions as well.

At the moment, Lomo was learning a simple way of tying from her mother, that she could use at the moment and when she grew older. She already knew how to put her hair in a tail, or a braid, but it was surprisingly important in their culture to be able to tie up their hair quickly, so if there was an emergency they could quickly get their hair up and out of the way before running out. After all, long hair could be a liability in battle, but they naturally had ways to counter this, because cutting their hair and ignoring years of tradition was hardly an option.

Currently, they were working on the snake braid and scorpion braid (the latter had existed in her past life, she was certain, but not quite like this and certainly not for the same reason). The former was a loose, single braid at the back of the neck, that gathered up all her hair and kept it out of the way quickly and easily. When she got older, and had a bit more dexterity, she would learn the Viper braid to replace it. It was essentially the same thing, however a vine covered in long, painful thorns was woven in and hidden in the loose hair, so if anything grabbed on they would get a nasty surprise. The scorpion braid, unlike the looser snake braid, was pulled extremely tight so it looked like a segmented scorpion tail. It would be replaced by a much thinner thorny vine, however this version contained a subtle poison that wouldn't kill, but would disorientate the enemy. The reason the Shandians were comfortable with it, was that their bodies had a natural immunity to an incredible variety of poisons, and could usually fight off, after a lot of pain and effort, the more dangerous ones. She and Wiper in particular, rather Calgara's bloodline in as a whole, had an even stronger immunity than most.

The way her new people had apparently weaponised their hairstyle was fascinating. More importantly, it was _fucking cool_. Plus, she _liked_ long hair, and considering how nice her hair in this life was, it would be a shame to have to cut it just so it wouldn't be used against her in a fight.

But finding her inner hairstyler wasn't all there was to it. Honestly, she was incredibly impressed by the whole thing. Teaching children the traditional braids, while simultaneously telling them stories about the reasons behind the names and how their ancestors created them, was an excellent way to both teach children their culture and history _and_ increase the dexterity and speed of their hands from a young age. At first glance things seemed simplistic and unadvanced, but there was _nothing_ primitive about her people. The Shandians, who were apparently from the moon-yes she believed it, there were far crazier things in the world than her people coming from the moon, though what that said about their ability to survive in that sort of environment had _implications_ -were highly advanced in their own way. Their ability to create dials, for example. Their natural intelligence, advanced mathematics, and revolutionary sciences all made a picture of something beyond what should be possible for a tribe of warriors living in the sky.

Well, that wasn't important. This new lifestyle of hers, she would just have to do her best in it. Perhaps her pitiable luck in her past life had made someone feel sorry enough for her, to reverse things and give her enough luck to be born with the natural gifts she had in this one.

If this was a world that was written into fiction in her original one, then there must be a main character. Well, there was no way to tell who it was, so no need to worry about seeking them out or avoiding them. Whatever happened, happened.

She seemed to be saying that a lot lately. Who was she trying to convince, anyways?

Herself, obviously.

Christ, she had spent so long as an infant that she now held regular conversations in her own mind.

Well, she supposed it was a natural development, no matter how interesting everyone else was to watch, she still had to get some sort of stimulating conversation, even if it was with herself.

Lomo hummed to herself, giving a secretive smile as she continued to braid her mother's hair.

Adianka looked back at her while keeping her head as still as possible, and gave a slow, relaxed chuckle. "I know that expression, little Lomo, I see it on my own face when thinking mischievous thoughts. So, would you like to share?"

"Secret!" Lomo chirped back cheekily, and the two of them simultaneously laughed, the child's squeaky giggle a much higher pitch than her mother's soothing rumble. She was very much her mother's child, though, and had a feeling that when she grew older she might share that husky voice and rumbling bass laughter.

Lomo hoped so, because she'd never heard anything as comforting. She'd like to be able to make that sound someday, to compensate for her constant bitching in the years before her death.

On the bright side, it seemed like in those years she had already used up most of her temper, and found it incredibly difficult to hold onto negativity in this body. She hoped it wasn't just the effect of her child mind, because she wouldn't mind having a calm personality like this for the rest of her life.

It was a hell of a lot more comfortable, for her and everyone else, than the mercurial, cold woman she had been before. Who would have thought that constant anger weighed on her so much, until it was gone?

Apparently death is pretty good for the soul. Or maybe it's the clean slate and loving community that had soothed her rough edges so well.

* * *

"Here," her mother carefully handed her a dull hunk of wood carved into the shape of a knife. The knife, while not a primary weapon among her people what with it's short reach, was an extremely useful multi-purpose tool. Obviously, skinning animals, cutting foliage, gathering plants, and similar things were common necessities. They also could be stabbed into trees and, with enough strength, rocks, for the sake of climbing smooth surfaces. They could serve as trowels and, in a pinch, if the main weapon was lost, it could be used as a back up. After all, while their usual style was to brute force things, the speed and finesse of a knife was something they were also capable of. Their main style tended to involve the use of dials in combat, and Lomo had seen Wiper eyeing the burn bazookas covetously when he thought no one else was looking, but sometimes they wouldn't have that option.

In an environment like theirs, with a hostile people and massive, deadly animals lurking everywhere, versatility was king. If you can't be prepared for everything, then be prepared for what you _can_.

She had certainly learned in her past life that arrogance and complacency, no matter how strong you thought you were, would get you killed rather quickly and with no warning.

So in this new life, preparation and paranoia would be her king and queen. Lomo was going to make doomsday preppers _jealous_.

Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but at least it sounded good.

Still though, she was barely walking, barely talking, and already got a knife? Then again, the silent expectation that no one would act foolishly with even a dull weapon was apparently enough to keep the naturally sensible Shandian children from causing themselves, or others, harm.

Really, there was no one who would treat a weapon lightly among the Shandians, so there was no real way for the kids to learn that behavior. In general, they believed in learning by experience, so while they would be kept away from debilitating injuries, smaller ones that would show them what not to do weren't actively prevented. If they were handling a knife incorrectly and cut themselves, well, they weren't likely to do it again in the future now were they?

Lomo somewhat recalled that those methods would have been frowned upon by the "upstanding citizens" of her old society, but having missed out on a normal childhood, she personally didn't see anything wrong with it. After all, experience was the best teacher. When she had gotten caught stealing an apple, and was nearly beaten to death, well that was highly motivational to not get caught again and pick her targets more carefully. Besides, if they learned early with minor dangers, then they would be far less likely to get into something truly dangerous when they were older.

Better a little scar on your finger, than a grieving family when you were dead. In a world like this, even more dangerous than her old one, personal experience was more important than ever.

Thus, as her mother began showing her simple exercises suitable for her young age, she just did her best to follow along, and an hour later, when she was bored and tired, she ignored that fatigue and continued on. She had learned enough about her own body, to know when she wasn't pushing limits and instead actively harming herself. The adults around would definitely stop her if she were to misjudge herself, so she wasn't worried about that.

Her genetic makeup was in itself extremely suitable for harsh training. It was far more durable, had far more potential, and a much greater healing rate overall than her old one. To be frank, she wasn't entirely certain it was possible to ruin her body by training it too much in this world. That could hardly even be considered ridiculous bullshit on what she considered this world's Scale of Bullshit Physics.

If you wanted to argue, well, she would just keep pointing to islands thousands of meters above the ground. If you were especially persistent, then she'd point to her ancestors who apparently had no issues living on the moon, in the vacuum of space, with ridiculously sparse oxygen molecules and problematic gravity bullshit.

So, yeah. She'd let the adults judge when she needed to stop, and until that point, she'd just keep on going until she couldn't anymore. She had done just that with her old world's normal human physique, she could certainly do the same with her gifted Shandian genes.

* * *

"Little Lomo," her mother called, the semi-permanent smile she wore around her children once again present. She was holding an odd, perfectly round fruit that looked a bit like a coconut, if a coconut was dark red and with no bristles. "I think it's about time you start learning to use a proper knife rather than just a wooden one, so let's start with chopping fruits."

Lomo tilted her head slightly, but nodded anyways. Adianka smiled, sweeping down and scooping her daughter up in her free arm, lifting her with a full-body twirl and settling her on her shoulder.

"Now then, since you don't have your own knife yet, I'll let you use mine. This is my name-day blade, so I trust you'll use it properly."

Lomo's eyes widened as she gave a quick nod. After all, the knife gifted to each member of the tribe on their name-day was important, and considered extremely precious to the owner. It was a symbol of the beginning of their true warrior training, after all, so to allow someone else to use it was a deep show of trust. Generally, only the closest family members were allowed to so much as touch it.

As if sensing her shock, though it was rather predictable, Adianka gave a breathy chuckle. "I'm not worried about anything happening to it in your hands, little Lomo. I have complete faith in you."

The tears that stung at her eyes were surprising but not unexpected, and Lomo quickly blinked them back. Those simple words were more important to her than her mother could possible know.

But at the gentle, understanding look in her mother's eyes as she was carefully handed over the knife, handle-first, Lomo wondered if maybe, her mother understood more about her strange daughter than she thought.

* * *

Adianka smiled as she gently stroked the long, copper hair tumbling along her sleeping daughter's back. Her children and husband were truly the best things in her life, and though it might be blasphemous, they were far more important to her than even reclaiming their ancestor's land from the Skypieans.

Recently, she had been taken off her maternal sabbatical, the second and last one she would ever have, in order to return to her post as one of the tribe's best warriors. The bloodline of her ancestor Calgara ran thick in her veins, enhancing her natural talent even further through her powerful physique. She was covered even more densely than most in the tribe's ink-markings, both symbolic of her achievements and because of her own appreciation for the aesthetics of the detailed inkwork.

The Skypieans had been quiet as of late, doubtless biding their time for some plan or other. Four hundred years of war weren't easily forgotten, and neither side was willing to give an inch. Frankly, she didn't particularly want it to end. She might not take pleasure in the bloodshed, the deaths of her people and her enemies alike, at least she hoped she didn't, but something in her reveled in the wild thrill of combat against an equally intelligent opponent. Not just a spar could sate that desire anymore, only the wild adrenaline of a battle with their lives on the line soothed her jittery anticipation.

She had been reared and raised during the most bloody period of the war in all the centuries it had been going on, and her entire generation, at least those who were alive, had something cracked inside of them. Those who didn't, hadn't survived. None of them could last long away from the field of battle, those who had tried had been unable to stand it and soon returned. Even her children, no matter how much love and adoration she held for them, could keep her from growing restless after 2 years off active duty.

As a mother, it was something she was ashamed of. But she had certainly never claimed that it was good, only that it was necessary. Those like her were the only ones who understood that draw to bloodshed, and that shameful thrill of knowing any moment, a mistake could cost their life. Dancing on the edge of a razor blade was the only time they were truly happy, and even her family couldn't close the gap that a peaceful life left within her.

Normality was somehow exhausting and befuddling, and knowing that it should be comfortable only made the feeling worse. Her normal was constantly fearing she would be murdered in her sleep, that this time when their hiding place was discovered she would die, that when the village was next burnt down the flames would be too quick to escape. Her normal was being four years old and stumbling into a battlefield, only surviving by crawling under the corpse of a dead Shandian warrior, was being unable to remember her parents because they died in honorable battle when she was only a few months old.

What was apparently supposed to be "normal", was like chest bindings wrapped too tight; restrictive, making her ribs ache at the pressure and her lungs struggle to draw deep, cleansing breaths because of the weight upon them. Too long spent pretending to be normal, meant the reminder every night in the form of unseeing eyes and a bloodsoaked old tree, an endless reminder of how impossible _normal_ was for her.

Adianka was happy that her children would grow up while the war was cold and static, both sides still recovering. Perhaps this way, they wouldn't grow up with something important in them broken, like her.

Lomahongva snuffled softly in her sleep, drawing the warrior woman out of her thoughts. Adianka's eyes gentled without her own notice. For Wiper and Lomahongva, she could pretend to be whole, and when she was on the bloodsoaked ground of battle, they would motivate her to fight all the harder. Broken or crooked or cracked, she was mother enough to want to protect her children from everything she could.

Yet, there was something in the air. An odd premonition, of an unavoidable tragedy. Her instincts were finely honed, to the point that it sometimes felt like there was an energy in the world that she could see, that told her of how her opponent would next attack and was always right, and so she trusted them when they spoke of danger. Years away it might be, but when it struck, it would strike true.

Those same instincts warned her that while she may have survived the tragedy of her earliest years, she would not survive this one. And her children would be caught within the storm's center.

She only hoped that meant they would be safe within the eye, rather than buffeted by vicious winds where they were the sharpest and most fearsome.

Adianka could do nothing but prepare them as best she could for that eventuality. Even if she wasn't there to take the blows, she would make them proud warriors who would not break under the assault to come.

Her children would live.

* * *

 _ **Chapter length: 7,700+ words**_

 **A/N: This will probably be both the longest and most informative author's note in the story, unless something comes up later.**

 **The first few chapters will be interacting with the tribe and getting to know them, particularly Lomo, Wiper, and Adianka. You might have already noticed, but** _ **Lomo is an unreliable narrator.**_ **She's bitter, a pessimistic cynic trying to be an optimist, somewhat callous, and highly critical of herself. She might be stronger-or weaker-in certain areas than she believes, and her views of others feelings and actions are biased, so don't take her straight at her word.**

 **Yes, she was a prostitute in her past life. No, it was not some horrific tragedy that weighed deeply on her soul. Sex was never a big deal to her, and to her personally it just wasn't that important. No one coerced her into it (in which case it would have been a big deal, but that's a moot point), she just realized she'd be good at it, wasn't willing to put in the effort to struggle for something more from her rather unfortunate circumstances, and was accepting, if apathetic, of her life. There are several things about her life that** _ **are**_ **very tragic, but her** _ **choice**_ **of work is not one of them. She was an adult capable of making her own decisions.**

 **To be quite frank, Lomo and I share very few similarities, and I disagree with quite a few of the views she's shown so far, and ones she might show later. But that's the point,** _ **this isn't me**_ **. Lomo is very much her own person, with her own views, and despite not liking all her actions, I'm not going to project upon this character so she'll only follow what I think is best. This isn't about me, this is about Lomahongva, and even if we disagree, it's still her decision.**

 **Anyways, Adianka in particular, is a very multifaceted individual. We see who she is from her perspective, but at the same time, the gentle and loving mother in Lomo's eyes is just as real. I like her character, and didn't actually want to foreshadow her death since it takes from the drama, but before I knew it, Adianka had already found out on her own.**

 **The story is going to take a very dark turn when Enel arrives, and that's all I'll say on the matter, except that it might be triggering for some people. I** _ **assume**_ **most of you are capable and mature enough to know what you can and cannot handle, and I'm not going to hold your hands and warn you about every single dark event that's coming. I'm not trying to be mean, but frankly placing specific warnings in a chapter take away from the experience for me and you. You aren't going to get that in a normal book, and while this is far from such high standards, you aren't going to get it here either. If that's something you're concerned about, then do what's best for you, and if that's leaving, alright.**

 **But don't leave flames about things that are very much in** _ **your**_ **control.**

 **I know I'm still an amateur in writing, so I'd appreciate any advice and constructive criticism you can give me. But let me be honest here, if it's just you wanting to fling insults for your petty satisfaction, keep it to yourself. If it serves no purpose and is only good for lowering my self-esteem, then I will absolutely delete it. I don't care if that doesn't match up with some strange conception of honor or pride you may have. Proper criticism, if harsh, will improve my writing even if it stings when I read it. Flames aren't good for anything.**

 **If you aren't the type who likes/is good at being a critic, that's okay. I like positive reviews, they motivate and encourage me, and sometimes help inspire me. I absolutely don't mind fishing for compliments either. Thus, I'll say it one time and leave it out of future author's notes.** _ **Please review, I would really appreciate it.**_ **A lot. Even just a thanks for the chapter, or good job, can work wonders. I won't be holding chapters hostage, I post them as soon as they're finished, but I don't have much time to write, and often don't have enough inspiration or motivation, depending, to churn out another chapter. All I can promise, is that I'll do my best.**

 **Don't worry, author's notes should be kept shorter and mostly concise in the future, after this info dump.**


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